


Valuable Consideration

by leveragehunters (Monkeygreen)



Series: Love is Something You Contract [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Magical Realism, Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Cuddling & Snuggling, Demon Bucky Barnes, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Humor, Law Student Steve Rogers, M/M, POV Steve Rogers, Pining, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Ridiculous, Silly, actual but not literal cuddle demon, badly translated dead languages can have unexpected consequences, brief appearance of Nat Sam Clint and Fury, can't believe I got to use that again, do not rely on summary for legal advice, i mean what jurisdiction would hell even be in, law school liberties, salty language and sex talk, stupid law jokes, summary aside the rules of contract law probably don't apply to the sale of souls
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-23
Updated: 2016-10-23
Packaged: 2018-08-23 23:03:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8346277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Monkeygreen/pseuds/leveragehunters
Summary: The three basic things you need for a valid contract are: offer and acceptance, intention to be bound, and valuable consideration. These rules apply whether you're selling a house, a car...or a soul. Steve was a law student. He didn't need to take Latin, but he'd gotten the strange notion into his head that it'd give him a deeper understanding of the law. One mistranslated assignment later and he'd accidentally offered to sell his soul to a demon named Bucky. Steve had no intention of selling his soul, but Bucky kept showing up and offering him different kinds of valuable consideration: fame, wealth, success, the usual things you'd expect in this sort of situation. Steve didn't want any of it. The only problem was, Steve was starting to want something from Bucky...but it had nothing to do with valuable consideration and everything to do with Bucky.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is partially based on this [Tumblr Post](https://leveragehunters.tumblr.com/post/151488746603/thoodleoo-everyone-thinks-latin-is-a-hard): _everyone thinks latin is a hard language to learn because it’s dead or because the grammar’s difficult or something like that but latin is actually hard because you keep accidentally summoning demons while you study and it can get kind of hard to do your homework when they’re all fighting over the soul you apparently just sold to five of them by mistake_.
> 
> When I started this was meant to just be straight-up silliness (and stick more closely to the post), but while I was writing it my dear friends got surprise married after 25 years together and asked me to be one of two witnesses, so I got hit with warm fuzzy feeling overload and you got this. I'm not even sorry.

Steve wasn't sure who was to blame for the fact that he was carrying a law school course-load _and_ Latin. Whoever it was, he kind of wanted to punch them. Whoever it was, they were an _idiot_ for thinking Latin was somehow going to give him a deeper understanding of the law. Whoever it was...oh, who was he kidding?

He knew exactly who to blame.

It was him. This had been his bright idea. He wanted to punch _himself_.

"Steven Grant Rogers," he muttered, trying to puzzle out his assignment. "You are sometimes the biggest idiot."

He carefully scribbled down what he thought was the correct translation, the professor having insisted on handwritten assignments and banned electronic devices in class ( _Be glad I don't restrict you to using only what the Romans had available_ , she'd said on the first day). "Okay. Right. That's, I think that's it. Finally." He smoothed the paper and brushed off the eraser shavings, having abandoned pen when failing to get it right the first time had made ink more trouble than it was worth.

He was beginning to understand why it was a dead language.

Taking a sip of his disgustingly cold coffee, he settled back in his chair and began to read his translation out loud. It was supposed to be simple and straightforward, not too challenging but Steve, as it turned out, did not have a gift for languages—or if he did, it didn't encompass Latin.

The sudden explosion of smoke, smelling of sulphur and brimstone (scents he recognised due to an unfortunate wrong turn at the wrong time into the Chem building), the tall, disturbingly attractive...something, his longish hair not quite covering the two small horns jutting out of his head, his slit-pupiled eyes glinting red, and Steve began to suspect he might have done something wrong.

"That's a generous offer," the...something practically purred, wandering over to look down at Steve. "It's been awhile since someone tried to sell me their soul. I was starting to think the market had dried up."

"Uhhhh." Not the most intelligent response, Steve would give you that. But one, the...something ( _he's a demon, Steve,_ his brain stated: _sulphur, horns, puff of smoke, obsessed with souls_. S _top trying to deny the evidence by calling him a_ something _; it's stupid and also kind of rude_ ), okay, _the demon_ , had literally appeared in his room in a puff of smoke, which he thought gave him some leeway to not be at his best. Two, he was exhausted. And three, he'd obviously screwed up his Latin assignment, which meant he was going to have to redo it and that thought kind of made him want to cry. "What?"

The demon lifted both eyebrows and smiled like a shark. "Your soul? You just made me an offer to sell and I'm accepting." He sauntered over to sprawl on Steve's bed, grabbing a pillow and shoving it under his head. "Honestly, you didn't just make me an offer, you made my entire year."

Steve blinked at him, then his eyes narrowed. "Comfortable?" he asked snarkily.

"Very, thanks for asking." The demon looked disturbingly serene for a creature from Hell. And disturbingly like any student on campus, with his soft black jeans and his long-sleeved red sweater. At least the colours were demon-appropriate.

"Well, good." Steve knew he sounded grumpy, but he didn't care. "I didn't offer to sell you my soul."

"Oh, but you did. Your pronunciation kind of sounded like cats screwing, but hey, it was enough to get me here. You offered, I accepted, your soul for…" The demon frowned. "What is it you want, anyway? You kind of missed that part. Which is unusual. That's normally what you guys lead with."

"I don't want anything."

"Sure you don't," the demon scoffed. "You just summoned me up to invite me to tea. Seriously, just tell me what you want and we can get this contract sealed."

"No, I really don't. I didn't even know I was summoning you. I was trying to do my assignment."

The demon laughed, a surprisingly warm, rolling chuckle that filled the room and shivered down Steve's spine. "You don't have to pretend with me. I'm a demon. This isn't going to work if you're not honest with me and there's nothing you can ask for that I haven't heard before."

"I'm serious," Steve insisted. "Calling you up was an accident."

The demon propped himself up on his elbows, studying Steve, and his smile slowly faded, replaced by a look of wonder. "You _are_ serious."

Steve nodded.

"That's amazing," the demon finally said. "Look, what's your name."

Steve snorted. "You first."

The demon grinned, showing amazingly white teeth that were just this side of too sharp. "Not stupid, are you?"

"Not by a long shot."

"I'm Buchanan."

"Steve. Nice to meet you." He paused. "I guess?"

"You're taking this pretty well for someone who didn't mean to summon a demon."

"Yeah, well, I'm a law student who voluntarily added a dead language to their already insane course-load, exams are just over a month away, and I'm already exhausted. I'm half-way convinced you're not real."

Buchanan hopped off the bed and walked over, Steve staring warily as he stopped in front of him, standing so close Steve could feel the heat of his body. He reached out his hand and Steve jerked back. "Easy. I'm not going to hurt you." This time, Steve held his ground and Buchanan gently pressed his fingers against Steve's cheek. They were hotter than a human's, radiating warmth. "See? Real. Now all you have to do is decide."

Steve stared up at him, half-mesmerised by the light glinting off his horns, by the hints of red in his strange eyes. "Decide what?"

"What you want for your soul."

 

* * *

 

It had taken some doing, but Steve had finally managed to convince Buchanan that there was nothing he wanted in trade for his soul. At least, nothing he wanted in trade for his soul right that moment.

"There's an offer on the table. I'll be back," he'd promised, before promptly disappearing in another puff of smoke. That had been nearly a week ago and Steve hadn't seen hide nor horn of him since. Honestly, at this point he was ninety nine percent certain he'd imagined the whole thing. Too much caffeine plus too little sleep could do weird things to a guy.

He'd managed enough of an accurate translation on his possibly-demon-summoning Latin assignment to scrape a pass, but he was worried about the new one. It was almost thirty percent of his grade and he couldn't afford to screw it up.

Reading it out loud was still the easiest way for him to work out if he'd done it right and a couple of hours after he'd sat down, he leaned back in his chair, sculled down the last of his now-cold coffee, and started to read.

He probably should have expected the puff of smoke.

He hadn't.

It wasn't Buchanan. It was a tall, sleek redheaded woman. Demon. Woman demon. She was beautiful, horns curving delicately out of her long red hair, and she was stalking across the room towards him. "My soul is not for sale!" he said quickly.

She stopped and tilted her head, reminding him strongly of a tiger he'd seen once in a zoo, but there was no giant pit and tiger-proof fence between her and him. Unfortunately. "Then why did you offer to sell it?"

Before he could answer, there was another puff of smoke and a tall demon, sandy brown hair curling around his horns, appeared next to her. "Wait, what are you doing here?" he asked as he caught sight of the redhead.

"Making a deal," she replied, a faint hint of annoyance passing over her face. "I could ask you the same question."

"Uh, same." The new arrival's gaze shifted to Steve. "How many of us did you call?"

"None!" Steve protested. "I didn't call any of you!"

"I think you did."

"I didn't _mean_ to."

The two demons exchanged a glance. Anything they might have said was cut off as another puff of smoke resolved into a sleek, handsome demon, dark horns sharply pointed, who glanced around the room, took in the other two demons, then raised one eyebrow at Steve. "Exactly how many deals were you planning to make?"

"And now Sam's here." The second demon threw his hands up in the air. "This is ridiculous."

Buchanan suddenly appeared, standing in front of Steve with his back to the room. "What in the name of Lucifer's balls are you _doing_?" he demanded. "You can't just go throwing summonses around! You're going to catch someone you don't want."

"What's going on, Bucky?" the redhead asked. "Do you know this human?"

"Bucky?" Steve asked under his breath.

"Shut up," he muttered in reply before turning to face the redhead. "Yes, _Nat_. I know this human. I have a deal on the table with this human. He's my human, not yours, so you can all head back Downstairs." He made a shooing gesture. "Go on, off you go."

"Then why is he sending out random callings?" she asked.

"That's something I'm going to get to the bottom of, trust me." He glanced over his shoulder and Steve held up his assignment. "You have got to be kidding me."

Steve lifted one shoulder. "Sorry?"

Bucky sighed and opened his mouth to reply when a low rumble filled the room and a circle of smoke formed on the floor. "Oh shit," Bucky said as a tall, one-eyed demon, dark shadows curling off his skin to stretch hungrily around the room, long ebony horns twisting over the sides of his head, rose up from the smoke. His single eye flared red, the space where the other eye should be a deep black void it hurt to look at. The other demons drew away, putting their backs to the wall while Bucky backed up until he was pressed against Steve. "Fury."

"Buchanan." The new demon—Fury—slowly took in the room. "Natasha. Clinton. Samuel. I understand there's a soul on offer."

Buchanan—Bucky—hadn't scared Steve. The other demons, they'd surprised him, but there was nothing about them, about Bucky, that was really scary _._ Intellectually, he understood that, yes, they were demons from Hell (even if his brain wanted to drink heavily and take a long vacation at having to deal with that thought), but they seemed like normal people. Fury was _scary_.  Not that he was going to let it show.

"There is," Bucky said, voice carefully neutral. "But we have a deal on the table." Bucky shifted so he could drop his hand onto Steve's shoulder. "He called me first. He made me an offer first. Isn't that right, Steve?" There was something in the way Bucky was looking at him, something in the way Bucky's hand tightened on his shoulder, that said, _Trust me_. Steve suspected that was a terrible, awful, _horrible_ idea—even if he wasn't scary, Bucky was still a demon from Hell—but he was beginning to think that terrible, awful, horrible ideas might be a sliding scale and maybe _trust me_ could mean: right here, right now, trust me in this.

"That's right," Steve said.

Fury's eye narrowed, the red flaring higher like a roaring flame. "Then why did you send out a calling?"

"It was an accident."

The look Fury turned on him was terrifying, but Steve lifted his chin and met it with a defiant one of his own. "An accident." Fury snorted. "I'll be keeping an eye on you, Buchanan. And the rest of you."  Then he was gone.

"Fuck, that was," Bucky whirled on Steve, " _stop summoning demons_. You're going to get your ass in deep trouble."

"I didn't know you cared."

"We still have to finish our deal so, yes, I do care, very much, especially when you call up _Fury._ " He shuddered.

His fingers were digging into Steve's shoulder and Steve winced. "Could you maybe let go of me?"

Bucky glanced down, like he didn't know what Steve was talking about, then snatched his hand away and turned to the others. "The rest of you. I've got a deal on the table so he's off limits." With only a few grumbles of protest, Clinton and Samuel disappeared. "You too, Nat."

She gave him a long, calculating look. "In a minute. I want a closer look at _your human_ ," she said and slowly stalked across the room, eyes fixed on Steve, hips swaying, tiger's smile firmly in place. Steve stared back, eyes never leaving hers, heart beating faster. Bucky reluctantly stepped out of her way and she leaned over Steve, lifting his chin with one finger to study his face.  

"I don't know what everyone was so worried about," Steve told her. "You're way scarier than Fury was."

Her smile slowly changed, shifting from something calculated into something almost warm and she patted his cheek. "I like you," she said. "When he abandons you in Hell, come and find me. I'll keep an eye on you."

"Uh, right. I'll remember if…that ever happens."

Her smile got wider. "You are adorable. Bucky, isn't he adorable?"

"Hands off, Nat. Dibs, remember?"

"I hope you know how stupid you sound," she said, not turning away from Steve. "Saying dibs like you're some sort of child. He really is like a child," she added in a conspiratorial whisper to Steve, one loud enough for Bucky to hear, then grinned like the Cheshire cat at Bucky's offended, " _Hey,_ " and disappeared. 

"I'm really not," Bucky said. "Nat just has unrealistic standards of behaviour."

"Thanks." Bucky turned a look of surprise on him. "For standing up to Fury for me." Bucky's face went momentarily blank and he stared at Steve, something unreadable in his eyes, then he grinned. "No problem. Got to look after my soul, after all."

Steve almost didn't say it, thinking about those other demons, about Fury, but he had to. "You know I already told you I'm not going to sell you my soul."

"We'll see, Steve. We'll see."

 

* * *

 

Steve sighed at his Latin assignment, double-checked it against his notes, opened his mouth to read, realised what he was about to do and found a hand slapped over his mouth at the same time he decided reading it out loud would be incredibly stupid. He could feel Bucky leaning against his back and he glanced up to see Bucky's upside down face scowling down at him. "No. We are not having a repeat of the all-demon hootenanny."

Steve glared, because he'd already realised he'd been about to make a mistake and didn't need Bucky to tell him.

Bucky was obviously not fluent in Steve glares. "No way, I'm not taking my hand away until you promise you're not going to read it out loud."

Steve snorted at him, then narrowed his eyes and licked Bucky's palm. Bucky simply grinned at him. "You think _that's_ going to make me let go? Hell, Steve, that's more likely to make me hang on."

Rolling his eyes, Steve nodded. Bucky let him go.

"You weren't even _here,_ " Steve demanded. "How did you know what I was doing?"

"My Spidey sense was tingling. It told me you were about to do something stupid and, lo and behold, I was right."

"I _wasn't_ about to do something stupid." Steve held out the paper to Bucky. "I'd already decided not to read it out loud. But I'm sure it's right this time."

Bucky took it, read it, and winced. "How are you so _bad_ at this?" He snatched the pencil out of Steve's hand and sat down on the desk, propping one suddenly bare foot on Steve's thigh.

"What are you doing?"

"Making sure I don't have to deal with a roomful of competition ever again," Bucky said distractedly, pencil moving across the paper as he corrected Steve's translation.

"That's cheating."

"Demon," Bucky said absently. "Some would say it goes with the job description."

"I'm not letting you cheat on an assignment for me." Steve grasped the edge of the paper and tugged it out of Bucky's hands, who was left with the pencil hovering in mid-air.

"It's one assignment."

"It doesn't matter. I'm not cheating."

"You're actually serious," Bucky said incredulously.

Steve fixed him with a _look_ and lifted his chin.

"I'll be damned. Well, again, some would say that goes with the job description, but…huh. That's not what I expected from someone who'd offer to sell his soul to a demon."

"You know that was an accident. Look, I'll let you check it to make sure I don't do it again, but I can do the work myself." Steve looked down at his paper where Bucky's handwriting was strong and confident next to his own uncertain chicken scratch. "Unless?"

"Unless...?"

"You want to help me?"

"Help you."

"You could tutor me? I mean you're obviously better at this than me. "

"Steve, there are honest-to-Lucifer human souls deep in the depths of the slime mold breeding pits that are better at this than you are."

"That's...disturbing."

"It's true."

"Well, since it's true, what do you say?"

Bucky heaved a deep sigh, tapping his bare foot on Steve's thigh. "Fine, it's not like I'm doing anything else."

Steve's smile was warm. "Thanks, Bucky."

Bucky avoided his gaze, looking suddenly uncomfortable, and pulled his foot off Steve's thigh, hopping off the desk to prowl around the room. "Don't mention it. _Really_ don't mention it."

"I won't, Bucky. Cross my heart," Steve said earnestly, eyes wide as he crossed his heart.

Bucky narrowed his eyes in response. "Now you're just fucking with me."

Steve widened his eyes even more, starting to go slightly owlish. "What do you mean?" he asked, radiating innocence. Bucky's head tilted suspiciously. Steve managed to hold the expression for a few more seconds before he burst out laughing. "Yeah, I am, but you should have seen your face."

Bucky threw a pillow at him. Steve caught it with a grin."If we're doing this, we're not doing it on your desk. I like to be comfortable." Bucky stretched out on Steve's bed, leaning against the headboard, and patted the space next to him.

Steve gathered up his Latin books and sat on the bed next to Bucky. Bucky turned out to be disturbingly good at explaining Latin in a way Steve could understand. He also had disturbingly little concept of personal space, leaning into Steve while they worked on what Steve was having trouble with. As a bonus, he taught Steve a wide range of profane language, suitable for all occasions—although Steve wasn't sure when he'd ever need to know how to insult the parentage of the Archbishop of Canterbury.

When he pronounced Steve ready to try redoing his assignment on his own without risking the inadvertent end of the world, he asked, "Mind if I stay and watch TV?" At Steve's look of surprise, he added, "We don't have Netflix Downstairs."

"Go ahead. I'm used to studying with background noise anyway." He handed Bucky the remote and shifted so he was lying on his stomach. Steve stiffened when Bucky folded an arm over his back and rested his chin on his arm, leaning into Steve's side as he flicked through shows. "Uh, what are you doing?" he asked, looking over his shoulder.

"Relax, Steve. Your virtue's safe with me." Bucky waggled his eyebrows. "Unless you don't want it to be."

Strangely, that actually made him relax. "That doesn't actually answer my question," he pointed out.

"No, it doesn't." Bucky wiggled his toes, stretched a little, and leaned even more into Steve, reminding him of a cat.

Steve stared at him, then shook his head, huffed a little, and went back to his assignment. An hour later, tiny, soft noises drew his attention away from the Latin and he realised Bucky was asleep. He was curled into a ball, forehead pressed against Steve's shoulder, one arm draped over Steve's back, knees pressed against Steve's thigh. It was deeply weird and, almost completely against his will, Steve couldn't help thinking it was cute.

His assignment was almost done, this time he was certain it was actually done right, and there was a demon curled up asleep next to him, snoring softly. "My life got very strange somewhere," he muttered under his breath.

 

* * *

 

"Wealth," Bucky said as he appeared in Steve's room.

Steve looked up from his notes. He was eating a burger and studying at the same time, something of an expert at multitasking by this point. "Are you going to keep showing up and randomly offering me things?"

"Yes," Bucky said and stole a handful of fries off Steve's plate as he sat down next to him on the couch.

"Good to know. Do you want me to go get you something to eat?" he asked as Bucky stole some more fries and picked up his milkshake, taking a long sip.

"Why?" he asked as he took another fry.

Steve smiled, amused. "No reason. And no, I don't want wealth."

Bucky frowned. "Why not? Everyone wants to be rich."

"I'm not saying I don't want to be rich. I play _what if won the lottery_ , the same as everyone else. I'm saying I'm not going to sell my soul for wealth."

"You're making this very difficult," Bucky said, shaking his head in disapproval.

"I'm so sorry for inconveniencing you."

"I'm sensing some sarcasm there, Steve."

"No, really?" Steve widened his eyes at Bucky.

"Just for that, I'm taking your milkshake," Bucky said and disappeared.

Steve stared at the spot where Bucky had been sitting then started laughing.

A few hours later, the TV on low in the background, Steve was leaning against the arm of the couch, reading a casebook. Bucky reappeared and set a fresh milkshake in front of him. "Here."

Steve blinked at it in surprise, because it was completely unexpected. "Thank you?"

Bucky didn't say anything, just sat on the couch next to him. After a few minutes, he stretched out to lean on Steve. Steve looked at him for a bit, before asking, "Are you going to keep showing up and just randomly lying on me?"

"Yes," Bucky said and wriggled around, trying to make himself more comfortable.

"Good to know." There was something so matter-of-fact about Bucky's complete disregard of his personal space, Steve couldn't quite find it in himself to mind. "Do you want me to move my arm?"

"It would be polite."

"Just don't stab me," he said as he lifted his arm. Bucky carefully rested his head on Steve's ribs, tilting his chin so his horns wouldn't dig into him, and Steve, after a moment's hesitation, let his arm settle around Bucky's shoulders. "This is very weird, I hope you know."

"Weirder than anything else that's happened so far?"

Steve had to concede the point. "When you put it like that, I guess not."

"Give me the remote and drink your milkshake." Steve passed him the remote and took a long sip of the milkshake, which was coffee flavoured and excellent. He glanced at Bucky, who had settled on something to watch and was completely relaxed, then went back to studying. At least with Bucky draped over him he didn't need a blanket, since Bucky pumped out heat like a furnace.

 

* * *

 

That night set the stage for how their interactions went.

It was coming up to the end of semester, exam season rapidly approaching, and when Steve wasn't in class he was studying. Sometimes in the library, but he mostly opted for his room, fewer distractions making up for the occasional inconvenience of a case that wasn't available online.

 _Fewer distractions_ wasn't _no distractions_ , however. Not anymore.

Distraction came in the form of Bucky showing up and offering him something in trade for his soul. Steve would refuse, which never seemed to surprise Bucky. That out of the way, Bucky would stay. He'd end up on the bed or the couch, watching Netflix or using Steve's Kindle, and Steve's days of studying at his desk were pretty much over.

Steve's days of studying without a demon attached to him were pretty much over.

At first he'd thought maybe Bucky was trying to achieve something with his tendency to drape himself over or against him. He'd had no idea _what_ , but he'd wondered if there was some sort of end goal behind it. But no. Bucky was just cuddly. That was the conclusion Steve was forced to reach after the third time Bucky fell asleep snuggled into him like Steve was some kind of teddy bear. Bucky was a cuddler and apparently had no qualms about taking advantage of Steve's willingness to let him. It was a surreal thing to realise about a demon.

It was strange, but it wasn't hurting Steve, it wasn't interfering with his studying, and given that Bucky started shoving food under his face and making him eat, something he tended to forget to do on his own, Steve couldn't bring himself to object.

 

* * *

 

Steve had the back corner of the library to himself and was wielding his highlighter like a sword as he reviewed his notes from the start of the semester.

"Fame."

"How would that even work?" he asked without looking up. "And keep your voice down. This is a library."

"Don't ask how the sausage is made, Steve. Just accept that it's delicious."

"I don't want to be famous. I actually can't imagine a lot of things worse than that."

Bucky sat on the table next to Steve's notes, kicking his feet back and forth. "Really?"

Steve glanced up at him. "Yeah. Imagine not being able to go anywhere or do anything without everyone watching you, never having any privacy. It sounds hellish."

"It's easy to get time alone in Hell. A little too easy, actually."

"Okay, fame sounds _horrible_ , not hellish," Steve said, studying Bucky. "So no, no fame. No thanks."

"Got it, no fame. Are you just about done here?"

"I've got at least another three, four hours of work." Bucky made a face. "Why?"

"I'm bored."

"I'm surprised you don't just go to my room, watch my Netflix, eat my food, sleep on my bed, you know, just like you always do."

"That would be kind of rude."

Steve stared at him. "It's not rude to show up at my place with zero warning and do those things if I'm home, but if I'm not home it would be rude?"

"Exactly."

"How about if I give you permission?"

Bucky shrugged. "I guess that would be okay." He still seemed oddly reluctant to leave and Steve made a decision, thinking about Bucky alone in Hell.

"Actually, hang on. I'm done with everything I needed the library for. I can study there just as well as I can here. I'll come with you." A small, pleased smile briefly crossed Bucky's face before it was replaced by his normal grin.

Once they got back to Steve's room, Steve wound up on the bed with Bucky tucked up against him, his books and notes spread out around him while Bucky read on Steve's Kindle.

Bucky disappeared after a couple of hours and returned with food, Italian that Steve ate absently while Bucky watched TV, Steve so lost in the minutiae of tortious burden of proof and taking your victim as you found them that he barely noticed when Bucky lifted the empty container out of his hands and curled against his side, absently wrapping an arm around Bucky's shoulders.

When he was finally satisfied, ready to stop for the night, Bucky's eyes were closed, his forehead was nestled in the hollow under Steve's collarbone, one hand was folded under his chin and the other was tucked in the small of Steve's back. Steve set his notes and his books down on the floor, trying to move carefully, not wanting to wake him up. "You're very cuddly," he said under his breath.

Bucky, apparently not asleep, opened his eyes. "You think there's a lot of opportunity to cuddle Downstairs? Especially with someone who cuddles back? Please, Steve. Tell me you wouldn't do the same thing." He stretched, wiggled his toes, and proceeded to octopus himself around Steve with a sigh. "Lie down, will you? You're killing my back."

Steve tried not to laugh as he shifted lower. "Better?'

"Much, thanks." Bucky, always careful with his horns, rested his cheek on Steve's chest.

"As long as you're comfy," Steve said dryly.

"See, that's the right attitude to have."

"You are _not_ what I would have expected from a demon."

"What, you thought it'd be all evil and threats and carrying a pitchfork?"

"Something like that."

"Hate to break it to you, but that whole lakes of fire and damned souls torn apart by abominations was because no one could figure out how to paint Hell. Blame the lack of human imagination." He paused. "Or blame you guys having way too much of it. Maybe both. Humans are disturbingly obsessed with torture." 

"What are you talking about?"

"Hell is technically the absence of the Big Guy Upstairs. I'm not saying Downstairs is an all-singing, all-dancing holiday fun time, but the whole torture and tearing apart people who didn't live up to some arbitrary standard in life is, as far as I can tell, a human invention. I've been in Hell since the Fall and the only lake of fire I've ever seen is when someone let Nat try and cook."

"Then why do you want to buy my soul?"

"Because you offered to sell it." Steve huffed and Bucky grinned. "Souls are a way of keeping score. The Big Guy Downstairs may just be doing his job, but that doesn't mean he doesn't have a bit of rivalry going on with the Big Guy Upstairs. Whoever has the most souls when the world ends wins."

Steve considered Bucky's words. "Should you be telling me things like that?"

Bucky shrugged and curled closer. "Who'd believe you if you told them?" he asked. "And I don't really want to lie to you. I'm not evil and Hell is boring. Why do you think I spend so much time up here with you?"

"Thank you so much."

Bucky grinned. "No problem." He snagged the remote and turned up the volume. "Now shut up, I want to find out what happens." Steve stopped talking, moving around—much to Bucky's displeasure, which he expressed by poking Steve in the side—until he was comfortable. By all rights he shouldn't be able to get there. He had a _demon_ draped across him. A demon who had one arm curled around Steve's waist. A demon with his cheek resting on Steve's chest, head rising and falling in time with Steve's breathing. But he believed Bucky when Bucky said he wasn't evil. Annoying, yes. Determined to finalise the contract and buy Steve's soul, yes. But not _evil_.

He was comfortable. He was too comfortable. He couldn’t stop himself from folding his arms around Bucky, telling himself it was only because of what Bucky had said about no one getting cuddles Downstairs. That really explained a lot.

"About time," Bucky muttered.

Steve knew he was lying to himself. He was cuddling Bucky because he wanted to. That couldn't be good. That _really_ couldn't be good. "Yeah, yeah," he said. "Watch the show."

Later, when Bucky fell asleep, Steve shifted his gaze from the TV to Bucky and gently smoothed the hair out of his face, careful not to touch his horns even though he realised he kind of wanted to.

_I think I'm in trouble._

 

* * *

 

Steve was walking across the quad, lost in thoughts of how, exactly, the snail had ended up in that bottle of ginger beer in the first place, when a voice whispered, "Lust," in his ear and scared the hell out of him.

He jumped straight into the air, clutching his books to his chest as his heart pounded. "Jesus, Bucky, _don't do that_!"

"Did I scare you?" he asked, all innocence, and Steve glared at him.

"No, I enjoy hopping across the quad like a rabbit."

"Interesting travel choice." Bucky flashed him a grin, the sunlight glinting off his horns, reflecting off his strange, slit-pupiled eyes, and Steve's heart was suddenly pounding for another reason.

"You can't be out here," he said, trying to pull Bucky towards the edge of the grass where there were fewer people. It didn't work, Bucky doing an excellent impression of an immovable object. "People are going to see you."

"Aww, Steve. Are you embarrassed to be seen with me?"

"No, but they're going to _see you_." He gestured at his own head, at his eyes. "They're going to know you're..." He trailed off. "Bucky, I know everyone's the next thing to crazy at this time of year, but they're going to know you're not," he dropped his voice to a whisper, "human. You need to get out of here."

Bucky's expression smoothed over and he studied Steve, eyes deep and dark. "You're actually worried about me."

Steve met Bucky's blank expression with his best _No shit_ look and went back to trying to tug him in the direction of the fewest people.

"It's fine, Steve. No one's going to notice me." Steve stopped trying to move him. "They can see me, no one's going to think you're talking to yourself, but they won't _see_ me, won't see anything strange. To them, I'll just be another person."

"You're sure?"

"I'm sure."

"Next time you might want to open with that."

"It's never been an issue before," Bucky said, still studying Steve, then he smirked. "But back to lust."

Steve sighed. "Yes?" He started walking again, Bucky falling into step beside him.

"Lust. There must be someone you lust after desperately, someone you can never have. I can give them to you. They can be yours forever and all it will cost is that soul you're barely even using."

Steve stopped walking and stared at Bucky in horror. "You said you weren't evil."

"I'm not."

"You just offered to give me a person. You can't offer to give me a person. That's evil."

Bucky looked offended. "You can't just call me evil."

"I can if the weight of evidence supports it."

Staring up into the sky, Bucky was obviously thinking something over. He tilted his head towards Steve. "I take it that's a no to the lust offer?"

"That's a fuck no," Steve said angrily, heart sinking with the weight of betrayal, feeling sick to his stomach. "And also a get the fuck out and don't come back if that's the kind of thing you think it's okay to offer someone."

"It's actually slime mold."

Steve's growing anger screeched to a halt at the complete _non sequitur_. "What."

"Slime mold." Bucky heaved a deep sigh. "I'm only telling you because if I don't I'm pretty sure you're never going to speak to me again. So, take the situation where someone actually sells their soul for the opportunity to slake their lust with the object of their desire."

"Not sure why you're suddenly talking like an old school romance novel, but I get the point."

Bucky smirked at him. "Not sure why you know what an old school romance novel sounds like, but moving on. We have specially cultivated slime mold growing Downstairs. It gets shaped into whoever they want, given a limited set of instructions, and offered to them on a silver platter."

"And they don't notice?"

"Steve." Bucky gave him a pitying look. "Someone who'd sell their soul for what's basically the chance to turn another person into a sex slave isn't going to notice if that person's suddenly been replaced by human-shaped, semi-sentient slime mold."

"That's disturbing."

"But fitting."

"It kind of is."

"It gets better."

"I'm almost afraid to ask," Steve said.

"When you sell your soul to a demon you end up in Hell when you die. If that's what you sold your soul for, you get put to work tending the slime molds. And of course it wouldn't be fair to deprive you of your one true lust object just because you're dead. Once they're back Downstairs slime molds revert to their natural shape. And slime molds, even if they're not that bright, are incredibly loyal. So you get to be with them forever."

"I don't know whether to be impressed or horrified, but I feel weirdly like that's almost perfect justice," Steve said, almost overwhelmed by his rush of relief at the knowledge that Bucky hadn't really been offering him a person.

"Hey, whatever you feel, I'm not the one who came up with it." Bucky grinned. "But I have to say I'm very glad you turned me down on this one."

"Did you really think I would have gone for that?"

Bucky's grin faded. "No. But I've been surprised before."

"Well, not this time. I would _never_ say yes to something like that."

"No, you wouldn't, would you?" Bucky's voice was soft and Steve held his eyes.

"Never." They stood staring at each other, then Steve shook himself and started walking again, Bucky falling in beside him. "Come on. I'll buy you lunch, but then I have to get to class."

 

* * *

 

Steve shoved his books away, hearing them thump onto the floor with only a vague, distant concern, and grabbed for the tissues to blow his nose. It went on for a disturbingly long time. He didn't understand _how_ his body could produce so much snot. With a groan, he tossed the tissue in the garbage and huddled back under the covers, squeezing his eyes shut. He had to keep studying but everything hurt.

"That's disgusting."

Without bothering to open his eyes, Steve croaked out, "That's what you get for showing up in people's rooms unannounced."

"Are you dying?" Bucky asked, sounding unconcerned at the prospect.

"Yes."

"No you're not."

"Feels like it."

He heard Bucky come closer. "What's wrong with you?"

"Cold. Flu. Plague." His voice was getting scratchier. "Feel like shit."

"I've got a cure for that." Steve opened one eye. "You'll be perfectly healthy. Never get sick again. No more colds, no more flu, no more plague, which you don't have, by the way. I've seen people with the plague." Bucky grinned toothily. "You'll feel good forever."

"And all it'll cost me is my soul?"

"It's like you can read my mind."

"Pass." Steve closed his eye and Bucky sighed.

"Well, you're disgusting and sad so I'll leave you to it," he said. "Good luck getting ready for your exams when you feel like this." Steve could tell he was alone once more and he tried to get further under the blankets.

A few hours later he was feeling worse, freezing cold and he couldn't stop shivering. His head was pounding, his joints were aching, and he kind of wanted to die.

"I didn't think it was possible, but you look worse." Steve just grunted in reply and felt Bucky sit on the side of the bed. "Changed your mind yet?"

He shook his head. He could feel the heat pouring off Bucky like a furnace and he was so cold, he couldn't stop himself from shuffling across the bed and curling around him. Bucky was like a giant hot water bottle, if a giant hot water bottle could ask, "What are you doing there, Steve?"

"Cold. You're so hot," Steve mumbled. 

There was a long silence in which Steve basked in Bucky's warmth and then Bucky laughed and his hands landed on Steve's shoulder. "I am, but I don't think that's what you meant." When Steve's only response was to try and press closer, he let out a long, pained sigh and muttered, "I can't believe I'm doing this."

Steve felt Bucky's hand on his forehead like a burning brand and a strange, twisting sensation inside his body. Gradually his shivering slowed and then stopped completely. "Right, back under the covers." Bucky's hands were gentle but firm as he pushed Steve onto his back and pulled the blankets up to his chin. "I'm sure you'll feel better soon." Steve stared blearily up at him and Bucky patted him on the chest. "You're still disgusting so I'm gonna go. Get some sleep."

Steve wanted to reach out for him, ask him not to go, but it was too late, he was already gone and Steve was being dragged back down into sleep. 

When he woke up, he was better. Completely better. No fever. No runny nose. No aching joints. Nothing. _Better_ like he'd never been sick. If not for the detritus littering his room, he would have thought he'd imagined it.

When Bucky showed up a couple of days later, perfunctorily offering a successful legal career in exchange for his soul, matter-of-factly accepting Steve's refusal, Steve hesitantly said, "Bucky?"

"Hmmmm?" Bucky was sprawled on the bed with the remote control for the TV, flicking through Netflix's offerings, not really paying attention to Steve.

"Thank you."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

Steve almost let it go, but he looked at the mountain of books on his desk, at the study schedule taped to the wall, and said, "For the flu or whatever it was. You made me better."

Bucky spared him a brief glance, eyes blank, expression unreadable. "Like I said, no idea what you're talking about."

He took the hint. "Right. My mistake. Sorry," he added, smiling faintly.

"No problem. Now, what do you think about your own private island somewhere in the South Pacific?"

"I think the commute would be a bitch," Steve said, gathering up his books and relocating to sit next to Bucky on the bed.

"Good point, good point." Bucky tapped his chin thoughtfully. "I'll throw in a helicopter."

"I don't even know how to drive a truck. I'm pretty sure a helicopter's going to end in disaster." Steve stretched out on his stomach, books spread in front of him, watching out of the corner of his eye as Bucky shifted until he was half draped over Steve's legs. "You do realise I'm not actually a pillow, right?"

"Shh, you're supposed to be studying." He poked Steve's ribs with his toes. "I take it that's a no on the island?"

"That's a no on the island."

"This would be easier if you'd give me a hint or two about what you want," Bucky groused.

"Shh, studying," Steve replied with a grin and Bucky rolled his eyes, but he settled into silence, watching the TV while Steve studied, absently drawing complicated diagrams with one finger on the back of Steve's calf.

Steve did his best to tune Bucky out: his occasional muted laughter, the feel of him curled against his body, the fact that Steve knew damn well Bucky had cured him and asked for nothing in return. It worked, but only because he'd had a lot of practice.

Even when Bucky fell asleep, having moved so he could throw his arm over Steve, his head pillowed in the small of Steve's back, carefully tilted so his horns didn't dig into him, Steve kept studying. But he was very aware of Bucky. He was very aware that there might actually be something he wanted—not something he could trade his soul for, but something only Bucky could give him.

He was pretty sure that what he wanted was _Bucky._  

 

* * *

 

Steve knew he needed to tell Bucky he was never going to sell him his soul. Needed to tell him _again_ , so Bucky actually believed him, even though he half-suspected Bucky must know _._ Surely Bucky had to realise Steve was never going to say yes to any of the things he was offering? But he needed to make sure. It was the right thing to do.

He didn't quite get around to it. He let it go on, Bucky showing up, suggesting some ever more outrageous thing that Steve might like to sell his soul for, nodding agreeably when Steve refused, then flopping down to lounge across Steve's bed, across Steve's couch, across _Steve_ like an overgrown cat.

It's why Steve didn't say anything. If he said something, Bucky might stop showing up. Steve would miss him. Steve would more than miss him. Somehow, Bucky had become an incredibly important part of his life. Steve thought maybe they were friends. Steve knew he wanted them to be more.

He knew he had to say something. He would. Soon.

 

* * *

 

The exam schedule was released. Contract law was first cab off the rank: first day of the first week of the exam period, with Latin up next.

Steve was aware there was a certain amount of irony in that.

 

* * *

 

The contracts exam was tomorrow. Steve been studying for…he didn't even know how many hours now and was back at his desk for the first time in weeks because he knew if he sat anywhere else he'd be asleep in minutes. At this point, he'd lost the ability to discern time, had fallen into some sort of parallel universe where minutes and hours had no meaning. The sun had long since set, the moon had risen, and he was taking it on faith that there would be a tomorrow.

He might be getting a little punchy.

He flipped back to the beginning of his notes, pulled his laptop closer, and once more opened the casebook. Halfway through _Carlill v Carbolic Smokeball Company_ he started giggling.

He might be getting a _lot_ punchy.

"Why are you giggling?"

He wasn't sure exactly when Bucky had shown up. At some point he'd shoved a container of Thai food under Steve's nose, ordered him to eat, and simply never left. The quiet drone of Netflix and Bucky's occasional laughter created a soothingly familiar background to his studying.

"Puffery," he managed to get out through his giggles. Objectively, he knew it wasn't _that_ funny, but right here, right now? It was hilarious. "Mere puffery."

"You may think that made sense? But it didn't actually clear things up." Bucky walked over to peer down at Steve.

"Puffery is," Steve waved a hand in the air, "advertising bullshit that no one's expected to _actually_ believe. That's why this _was_ a valid contract, because it _wasn't_ mere puffery. But it was all about a smoke ball that you used by literally puffing smoke up your nose. And these nineteenth century British judges, with the wigs and the robes and the dignity, had to sit there and say that Carbolic's 'if you use our smoke balls you won't get the flu or we give you a hundred pounds' wasn't a mere puff. Basically, that puffing the smoke balls wasn't a mere puff." He started giggling again. "Why didn't I see it before?"

The look Bucky was giving him was deeply dubious, but the corner of his mouth turned up. "Maybe because you weren't completely exhausted before?"

"Okay, you might have a point." His agreement was undercut when another giggle escaped and he put his head down on the desk and closed his eyes.

"I think it's time for bed." Bucky grasped Steve by the shoulders and pulled him to his feet, gently steering him in the direction of the bed.

"I have to study," Steve protested.

"Steve. It's after midnight. You've been studying all day. Do you know your stuff?"

"I think so."

"Do you know it well enough to make stupid jokes about it?"

Steve snorted. "Apparently."

"Then a decent night's sleep is going to do you better than anything else at this point." He paused. "Right?"

"Right."

"Then you're going to bed." Bucky paused beside Steve's bed, let go of him long enough to pull back the covers, then put one hand in the middle of his back and gave him a light shove. Steve half-fell, half-collapsed into his bed with a soft groan, not having realised just how damn tired he was until he was lying down. As he pressed his face into the pillow, Bucky pulled the covers over him and he found himself barely able to keep his eyes open. "Told you," Bucky said smugly. "What time do you need to be up?"

Steve told him and then watched as he set the alarm. He didn't really understand why Bucky was so good to him, but he had to tell him. Had to tell him that he was never going to finalise the contract for his soul. It wasn't fair to let Bucky think he was going to. He never should have let it go on this long. "Bucky?" He tugged at Bucky's shirt. "Bucky, I have to tell you something. It's important."

Bucky sat down on the edge of the bed and looked at him expectantly.

"I've got to tell you about the valuable consideration."

Bucky paused, then leaned down to peer into Steve's eyes. "What are you talking about?"

"The contract for my soul. That's what you call what you're going to give me for my soul. I have to tell you—"

Bucky cut him off. "No, Steve. You're so tired you may as well be drunk and there's no way you're thinking straight."

"But it's important."

"No." Bucky covered Steve's mouth with his hand. He looked sad and Steve wanted to hug him, to make the sad look go away, but his limbs felt like someone had poured lead into all his bones. "You can tell me tomorrow, after your exam. Okay?" After a moment, Steve nodded and Bucky lifted his hand. "Now you need to sleep."

"Yes, Bucky," he said. "Whatever you say, Bucky."

"And now I'm getting sass." Bucky shook his head as he pulled the blankets a little higher, tucking them around Steve. "Remind me why I put up with you again?"

"No idea." Steve closed his eyes on a sigh as every part of his body cheered at the promise of sleep. "Something to do with wanting my soul?"

A soft snort and Bucky's muttered, "Yeah, that must be it," made Steve smile. "You're supposed to be sleeping." He was fading fast, sinking into warm blackness, when he half heard Bucky say under his breath, "Not sure what I'm going to do about you," but it barely registered. He curled onto his side and around Bucky, who chuckled. "And you say I'm the cuddly one."

"You are. You're n'octopus."

"Go to sleep, Steve." The last thing Steve remembered was the feel of Bucky's hand on his shoulder following him down into sleep.

 

* * *

 

He aced his exam. He walked out of it knowing he'd aced it. When he got back to his room, Bucky was waiting, idly flipping through his Torts text book. He looked up as Steve walked in. "How'd it go?"

"Good." Steve pulled the door shut behind him and ran his fingers through his hair, suddenly nervous. "Bucky, I have to talk to you."

"You’ve decided what you want for your soul."

"No. But it's sort of related."

Bucky smiled, head tilted as he studied Steve. "Sounds serious."

"It is. Bucky," he drew in a deep breath, let it out slowly, "Bucky, we're never going to have a contract."

His smile faded. "Really."

Steve nodded. "You need three things for a contract." He was babbling, he knew he was, and he blamed having just come out of a contracts exam and how damned nervous he was. "Offer and acceptance, intention to be bound, and valuable consideration. I'll give you intention to be bound—I didn't know what I was doing, but we're dealing with ancient Latin incantations so I'll give it to you—but there's no offer and acceptance and there's never going to be any valuable consideration, at least not for me. There's nothing you can give me, nothing you can offer me, that will make me sell you my soul."

There was absolutely no expression on Bucky's face. "And how long have you known you weren't going to sell?"

Steve looked guilty. "I've always known. I'm sorry. I tried to make you understand at the beginning. I tried to tell you, but you thought I'd change my mind. I didn't keep trying and I should have. I should have kept trying until you believed me."

"But you didn't. You let me keep offering you things. You let me keep thinking you were going to sell. Even though you knew."

"Umm, yeah." Steve stared at his shoes, feeling about two feet tall. "I'm so sorry, Bucky."

"So this whole time you've been playing me."

Steve's head shot up and he looked at Bucky in horror. Bucky's eyes were flickering red. "Bucky, no. That's not what—"

He didn't get any further. Bucky was a blur as he crossed the room and shoved Steve up against the wall.

"I'm a _demon_. You think you can just say _sorry_ and everything's going to be fine?" He was pinning Steve in place, his arms like iron bars. "You've been playing me this whole time, thinking you'd get off scot-free. Well guess what? That's not how it works." He smiled, showing all his teeth, sharp and very white, and his eyes flared red. "Play with demons, Stevie," he lowered his head, mouth brushing Steve's ear, "and you're gonna get burned."

Steve's heart was beating like it wanted to bust out of his chest and flee, Bucky's hands were hot where they were holding him, but they weren't _hurting_ him, and he made himself stay calm. He wouldn't let himself be afraid of Bucky. "I wasn't playing you."

"Really?" Bucky's voice was a threatening purr. "Then what were you doing?"

"I didn't want you to go. I'm sorry I didn't try harder. I'm sorry, Bucky. I know I should have. It's no excuse, but I wasn't playing you, I just didn't want you to leave. And then, then I thought maybe we were friends so it didn't matter."

Bucky went still.

Steve could feel Bucky's breath against his neck and he barely kept himself from shivering. "And then I thought," it took every bit of Steve's courage to keep going, "no, I hoped, there might be a chance we could be more."

His eyes jumped to Steve's. Steve swallowed hard but held his gaze.

"More." Steve nodded. Bucky's eyes bored into his. "I'm a demon trying to close a deal. Answer me this, Steve: are you going to sell me your soul?"

"Bucky, I—"

"Steve." Bucky's voice was almost gentle. "Answer the question."

"No. No, I'm not."

Bucky stepped back, lifting his hands away from Steve. "That's all I needed to know." He held Steve's gaze and Steve knew what he was about to do. He reached out but Bucky kept moving away.

"Bucky. Please don't go."

"Sorry, Steve. I'm a demon. I was here to do a job and one way or another that job's done." With a puff of smoke, he was gone.

Steve sat down on the edge of his bed and put his head in his hands. The only sign Bucky had ever been there was the lingering scent of sulphur. His heart felt like it was breaking into tiny pieces. "That could have gone better."

 

* * *

 

Life went on. He finished his exams. He passed everything.

He talked to Bucky sometimes, like maybe Bucky might be listening. He even tried doing it in Latin, just in case.

If he could have found that first draft of his Latin assignment, the one that had somehow summoned Bucky up from Hell, he'd have used it.

Maybe.

He didn't know.

It was probably for the best that he didn't have to test his resolve because it was nowhere to be found.

But he kept talking to him. Just in case.

"Sorry, Bucky," and, "I passed Latin, Bucky, thank you," and, "Bucky, it'd be great if you came back."

And, "I miss you, Bucky."

 

* * *

 

A month later, Steve woke up abruptly to flickering red eyes next to his bed. His heart lurched, because he knew what it was. Who it was. "You don't think it's a bit creepy, sitting next to a guy's bed in the middle of the night?" he asked, keeping his voice deliberately light, even though he wanted to grab hold of Bucky and not let go.

"It's like you keep forgetting I'm a demon," Bucky said.

"I don't forget, Bucky. I never forgot." Steve rolled onto his side, so he was facing Bucky. Lifted one hand like he was going to touch him, then reached out to turn on the bedside light instead.

Bucky made a disbelieving noise. "Sure you didn't."  

"I didn't, Bucky. And I'm sorry I let you keep thinking I was going to sell you my soul. It was wrong and I'm sorry and I fucked up."

"You did try and tell me, though, right at the start." Bucky sighed and leaned his elbows on the edge of the bed. "I'm the one who didn't listen and that's on me. Not you. But you weren't wrong. If I'd believed you, I wouldn't have come back."

A faint trickle of hope made itself known. Steve tried not to pay it too much attention. "And if I'd told you later? If I'd convinced you?"

"I don't know, Steve. Maybe I'd have kept coming, maybe I wouldn't have. We'll never know."

Steve winced. "Guess I deserved that one."

Bucky's expression softened. "I didn't mean it like that."

"Does this mean you'll start coming around again?"

"I don't know."

Steve nodded, hiding how his heart sank. "Is there a reason you're here now?"

Bucky wound one finger in the edge of the blanket. "I need you to explain what you meant by _more_."

The trickle of hope turned into a river and Steve inched a tiny bit closer to Bucky. "I meant I like you. I meant I'm attracted to you." He paused, looking for words. "Do you remember when you said it would be easier if I gave you a hint about what I wanted?"

"I remember."

"That's about when I figured out that I want you." He paused. "Does that make sense?"

"Yeah." Disappointment flashed across Bucky's face before his expression cleared. "I know what that means." Faster than Steve could follow, Bucky moved and Steve was on his back, Bucky straddling him, one hand planted next to his head, the other dragging down the covers to spread wide on his bare stomach. "It means you want to fuck me. Do you want it scary?" His voice was low and dark and he scraped his nails across Steve's skin. Steve sucked in a breath. "That's what people want when they fuck a demon."

"That's not what I meant." Steve couldn't help a shiver, heat pooling under Bucky's hand, but he wrapped his hand around Bucky's wrist, holding it in place, keeping it from moving lower. "That's not what I want." 

"You sure? I'm very good." Bucky's grin didn't touch his eyes.

"I'm sure." He tugged and Bucky let Steve pull his hand away. Steve folded his fingers around Bucky's, let their joined hands settle on his chest. "Do people really want that?"

"Plenty of people like to be scared when they fuck, as long as they're sure they're not actually going to get hurt." Bucky eyed him, eyed their joined hands. "Not you, huh?"

"No."

"Then what do you want from me?" There was a hint of frustration leaking into Bucky's voice and Steve squeezed his hand.

"I don't want anything, Bucky."

"Yes you do. Everyone does."

Steve sighed. "I guess I do want something." Bucky's look of triumph faded when Steve continued, "I just want you to come back. If you want to. Because being with you makes me happy. I miss you, Bucky."

Bucky could have been carved from stone he was so still.

"And because I think," Steve said carefully. "I think being here, being with me, made you happy, too, and more than anything I want you to be happy."

Bucky shifted uncomfortably, but he turned his hand to slide his fingers through Steve's. "I'm a demon."

"I know."

"And you want me to be happy."

Steve smiled gently. "I do." 

Bucky shook his head slowly. "That makes no sense. I hope you know that."

Steve tightened his hand around Bucky's. "It makes perfect sense from where I'm sitting."

"You don't want anything from me. Not riches, not sex, not anything."

"No. I'm your friend, Bucky, no matter what, but I meant what I said when I thought, hoped really, that maybe we could be more, that we could be together, if you had any interest in that." He stopped, looking down at their joined hands before continuing, not willing to be anything but absolutely honest. "And I'm not saying I wouldn't be interested in sex as part of that, eventually, if you were, but when I said I realised I wanted you I didn't mean I wanted to fuck you. I meant that I realised I wanted _you_ , Bucky, I wanted to be with you as, as more than a friend, however that would work for us."

Bucky studied Steve, eyes intent and flickering red, for so long Steve wanted to hide under his pillow, but he didn't, he kept looking back, willing to give Bucky whatever he needed. Finally Bucky said, "You're talking about romance."

It wasn't quite how Steve would have phrased it, but since he felt like everything he'd said up to this point had been awkward as hell, he'd take it. "Yes."

"With me."

"Yes."

"I'm a _demon_."

"Unless something's changed drastically in the last five minutes," Steve said, the corner of his mouth curling up. "Yes." He paused and added, "An incredibly cuddly demon, if I'm remembering right, one who literally fell asleep in my arms."

It drew a smile from Bucky, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "So if I kissed you right now, that would make you happy?"

"It would depend on why you were doing it."

Both Bucky's eyebrows went up. "Really?"

Steve nodded.

Bucky smoothed his thumb over Steve's hand. "How about if I was doing it because I wanted to?"

"Do you want to?"

"I kind of think I do."

"And would it make you happy?"

"I think it would, yeah." Bucky hesitated, then said softly, "I think I was hoping that's what you meant by _more_."

The river of hope was so loud Steve could barely hear anything, or maybe it was the sound of his heart racing as Bucky leaned down and kissed him, gently at first, lips just brushing his, before he lifted his head to look thoughtfully at Steve. Steve touched Bucky's cheek with his free hand. "Bucky?"

Bucky answered him with a smile and another kiss, this one stronger, deeper, and Steve pressed up to meet it, sliding his hand into Bucky's hair. Bucky freed his hand from Steve's and pressed his palms to Steve's cheeks, cradling his face while he kissed him. Bucky's hands were hot and strong against his skin, in striking contrast to how gently they were holding him, and he wrapped his arm around Bucky's back and pulled him closer as he lost himself completely.

When Bucky pulled away they were both out of breath. Bucky ran his fingertips across Steve's mouth, lightly kissed him again, then rested his forehead against Steve's and sighed, deep and heartfelt. "I was right."

Steve managed a questioning noise, too dazed to form words.

"It did make me happy." Bucky shifted so he was lying pressed up against Steve's side, one leg thrown over Steve's. "I think we should try being more."

"Yeah?" Steve wrapped his arms around Bucky and pressed a kiss to the top of his head, right between his horns. He was still dazed, his brain offline, lost in the sheer wonder of Bucky being here with him, a solid warm weight against his side, of Bucky wanting to be _more_.

"Yeah." Bucky kissed his chest, spread his fingers wide over Steve's sternum, and smiled, pleased and warm and a tiny bit smug, when Steve shivered under his touch. "Let me know if there's anything you want to do."

He was pretty sure it wasn't what Bucky had in mind, but he had to ask. "There is something, but…"

"But what."

And now that he actually had to ask, he was having second thoughts. "It's probably weird."

Bucky propped his chin on Steve's chest and looked up at him. "Trust me, there's _nothing_ you could come up with that I'd think was weird."

"This might be an exception."

Bucky's eyebrows shot up. "Whatever it is, just ask me."

"Can I touch your horns?"

There was a long pause and Bucky eyed him like he wasn't sure where Steve was going with this. "You want to touch my horns."

Steve blushed. "I've wanted to for awhile. I wouldn't ever touch them without your permission, but I thought maybe you wouldn't mind now."

"Why do you want to?"

"Because they're beautiful. Because they're part of you." Steve was starting to think he'd committed some sort of demon _faux pa_. "Because they're part of what makes you _you_." He curled his fingers against Bucky's back. "Sorry?"

Slowly, Bucky smiled. "Steve. It's okay. You can touch them."

"You're sure?"

"Go ahead."

Hesitantly, almost expecting Bucky to tell him to stop, he reached out and gently touched one of Bucky's horns. It was slightly cool, still warm but not as warm as Bucky's skin, smooth and it almost felt like fine-sanded wood. "Can you feel it?" Steve asked, running his fingers down to the base. Bucky shivered."I guess that's a yes."

"That's a yes."

Steve felt the point with his fingertip, surprised that it was sharper than it looked, then stroked his fingers down to the base again, trying not to blush at the obvious parallels, but Bucky didn't say anything. His eyes were half-closed and Steve could feel him relaxing. He brushed Bucky's hair back, letting his fingers linger behind his ear, then ran his fingers up first one horn, then the other, fascinated at the feel of them.

Watching him through half-lidded eyes, Bucky murmured, "Surprised you want to touch them, actually."

"Why?"

"Can't pretend I'm human if you're touching my horns."

Steve went still, feeling like Bucky's words were half-test, half-dragged out from the heart of him, then clasped Bucky's chin, gently tilting it up so he could look him in the eyes. "I'm not pretending you're human. I know you're a demon. When I fell for you I fell for all of you."

There was a long moment of silence. When Bucky finally spoke, his voice was deep and warm. "You fell for me, huh?"

Expression serious, Steve cupped Bucky's cheek with one hand. "Completely."

Bucky leaned into Steve's hand and they stayed like that until Bucky turned his head, pressed a kiss to Steve's palm, and asked, "Are you gonna kiss me or what?"

Thumb brushing Bucky's skin, Steve smiled. "What would you do if I said _or what_?"

Narrowed eyes glinting with amusement, Bucky surged up to lean over Steve, planting his hands on either side of his chest. Steve grinned up at him, heart beating faster as he wound his arms around Bucky's neck. "I guess I'd have to take matters into my own hands."


End file.
